


Veritas

by ExpatGirl



Series: Team Free Will and the Mississippi Succubus Adventure [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Drinking, Everyone loves a good sex demon story, M/M, Post-Darkness (Supernatural), Post-Season/Series 11, Sam Knows, Sam knows and he is fed up, Succubi & Incubi, Talking, Talking About Porn, Team Free Will, but he loves them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6180187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpatGirl/pseuds/ExpatGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team Free Will stake out a possible succubus at a bar in Mississippi. Things get weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Veritas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BurningTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningTea/gifts).



> This is all [BurningTea's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningTea/pseuds/BurningTea) fault. 
> 
> Note: my brain is really, really not working, reading-and-writing-wise, so if there are any typos or anything please let me know so I can fix them!
> 
> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1gX1EP6mG-E) is the song referenced.

“Succubus, huh?” Dean asked, sliding into the seat with three fresh bottles of Kingdom in his hands. A woman appeared a moment later, as if by magic, to clear away the impressive array of empty ones. She had a pert cherry-pink mouth, big brown eyes, and pointedly ignored Dean’s wink. “Hey, I was gonna take a picture of those,” he said, to her retreating back. He wondered how she wasn’t sweltering in that pink leather jacket. “Y’know, commemorate the dream team being back in action.” He looked between Sam and Cas. “It’s good to be working together again.” He raised his bottle. Sweat beaded on it, emphasizing the warmth of the Mississippi air, even inside. Over the PA, some guy was running from the cold up in New England. “L’chaim.”

“More like commemorate your commitment to cirrhosis of the liver,” Sam said, tipping the beer bottle forward in a pretty lazy toast, “given how many there were.” He took a swig.

“Hey, man, it’s not _my_ fault Cas has his old tolerance back,” Dean said, blinking slowly.

“That’s...not entirely true,” Cas said.

As if to prove the point, he swayed a little toward Dean as he turned. Though, Sam thought privately, that might not have anything to do with his blood alcohol level, since he seemed to do the same thing when completely sober. “Three years ago I could’ve downed this entire bar. Now I’ve only imbibed a quarter of it and…” (He paused to take a pull off of the beer bottle he’d been holding, and Dean _very_ subtly watched the way his throat moved as he did. He found that he approved, as he generally did when watching Cas move or breathe or blink or stand or…) “I’m, uh, hammered.”

He didn’t do air quotes anymore, Sam noticed, but they were heavily implied.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re such a cheap date,” Dean said, looking at him warmly. After a moment he glanced down at an interesting stain on the table where someone had forgotten to use a coaster.

“Hmm,” Cas said, finishing off his drink with his eyes locked firmly on Dean. “Is that what I am.” He stood—slightly unsteadily, if the hand on Dean’s shoulder was anything to go by—and made his way over to the bar.

Sam tried to bite back a grin, but he was feeling a little soft at the edges, so some of it got through, anyway. “I don't wanna know what we've spent. I bet it's horrendous."

Dean shrugged, made amiable by alcohol and a string of successful, straightforward hunts. And by the fact that all three of them had walked out of those hunts upright and breathing. This was only Cas’ second one back in the field since they’d gone toe-to-toe with Amara and Lucifer all those months ago ( _And you know, it might not have been the cleanest victory they’d ever had, but it was still a win, damn it_ ). It’d been a long row to hoe, and they hadn’t actually finished hoeing it, not with everything that went down in the meantime, but Dean was glad, at least, that they were getting a chance. He was glad there was a row at all. It was in this spirit he said: “It’s just money, Sam. Cas is having a good time.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Sam said emphatically.

Cas returned a moment later with a confused expression and a black-labelled bottle. Dean’s eyes widened.

“Woah, buddy, a whole bottle of JD? After beer? That’s a young man’s game, my friend.”

“I...was going to buy a round of shots, but the bartender insisted I take this, instead.” He brandished the bottle.

Dean, too drunk for any more _very_ subtle moves, turned to look directly at the bar, and was rewarded the sight of an excruciatingly handsome man winking at him.

“He did that to me, too,” Cas said, raising his hand in a small wave.

“He charge you for that?” Sam asked, feeling sobriety suddenly creep back into his brain on little steel-toed feet.

“Uh, no, actually,” Cas said, pouring out three tumblers full. “Said we’d spent enough already tonight. So,” he set the bottle down with a slightly louder thud than was necessary. “On the house.”

“Good man,” Dean said, turning to toast the bartender. Cas followed suit, and so, after a moment’s hesitation, did Sam.

Sam frowned into his drink.

“What’s the matter, Sam?” Dean asked, now making no effort to hold himself upright, leaning his shoulder against Cas. When had their chairs moved so close together? Who cared? Cas was warm and solid and held his weight like it was nothing, like he could hold Dean up forever. He leaned a little more. “You look like some chick’s just told you she has to wash her hair tonight.”

“What if it’s not a succubus?” Sam asked, setting his drink down untouched.

“What?” Cas asked, sitting up straighter. This caused Dean to lose his balance, and he grabbed Cas’ thigh for support. _Hello, quads_ , Dean thought, then snapped his attention back to the conversation. Right. The case.

“What else would it be, Sam?” Cas was asking, leaning forward, his eyes bright and intent despite the gentle veil of warm summer air and cold beer. “I’ve double checked the lore. All signs point to a sex demon. Do you think I’ve made a mistake?”

It struck Sam that, in the old days, before he’d learned the taste of doubt, Castiel would never have asked this question. He’d been clad in the righteous certainty of angels, which wasn’t so much arrogance (usually) as it was the knowledge that he was very good at what he did. One of the best, in fact. Castiel’s crisis of faith, Sam realized a long time ago, was primarily with himself.

“No, of course you didn’t make a mistake, Cas,” Sam said quickly, downing the tumbler of Jack. “The research is sound. If anyone knows what they’re talking about, it’s you.”

Cas was drunk enough that his pleasure at being praised didn’t carry the sting of disbelief in its tail. He smiled down at the tumbler and ran his finger along the beveled edge of it. Dean’s hand was very warm on his his thigh. “Thanks.”

“I mean,” Sam said, after letting the moment settle, “what if it’s a sex demon but it’s not a _succubus_?” He inclined his head, barely perceptibly, toward the bar. The music was loud in here, but Sam still dropped his voice. “What if it’s an incubus?”

 _That_ got Cas’ attention, eyes darting back and forth briefly, like he was rapidly scanning a text only he could see.

“Hm,” Dean said, turning again to the bar, but the bartender had disappeared into the back and the waitress who’d cleared their table was now manning the taps. She saw him looking and raised one perfectly-shaped brow at him. “That possible, Cas?”

Cas nodded. His movements seemed more relaxed than normal, Dean noted, as he watched Cas tip his head back, considering. Suddenly, Dean’s mouth was dry. He took another drink, then rested both hands carefully on the table.

“Yeah,” Cas said, after a moment. “The...M.O. is the same.”

Again with the invisible air quotes. Sam found himself smiling a little, as he had been most of the evening.

“Right, and we just assumed that it wasn't an incubus because…”

“All the victims are dudes,” Dean finished, loosening his tie.

“What? What does...” Cas asked, bewildered. Then, after a beat, clarity, of a sort: “Oh, right. Heterosexuality. Sorry, I...keep forgetting. You said ‘succubus’ back at the bunker, so I assumed you knew something I didn’t.” He directed this at Dean, who was turning an interesting shade of pink around the neck and ears. Cas regretted the loss of Dean’s hand on his leg, but didn’t quite know how to ask for its return.

“Unlikely,” Dean mumbled. He took a deep breath. “And we’re sure all the victims passed through this bar?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Always within twenty-four to forty-eight hours of their death.”

“Lucky bastards,” Dean said, before he could stop himself. Sam said nothing at that, just raised his eyebrows for a moment. “I mean, uh, if I had to pick a way to go…”

Cas looked at him very seriously, from much too close up, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He blinked, as though confused. “Either of you,” he added, after a pause.

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam said, clearing his throat.

“So what do we do?” Cas asked. “Do we...do we flirt with the patrons?” He turned around to take in the crowd of people that moved through the neon-tinged dark, indistinct and numerous, beautiful and intimidating. Is this how humans envisioned the Host? “It’ll be more efficient if we divided this establishment into quadrants.” He said. “I’ll take the one by the pool table. Sam, Dean, you work the doors. We’ll meet up again by the bar itself.” He made to stand, but Dean grabbed his arm.

“Woah, woah, hey, there, Romeo. I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“Ah,” Cas said, sitting back down and slumping against Dean slightly. “You’re right, of course, Dean. You’re better at pool than me, you should take the pool table quadrant. More believable.” His eyes were liquid and warm. Sam could practically see the hearts in them from where he sat. He downed another finger of whiskey.

“Uh, yeah no, that’s...that’s not what Dean means,” Sam said. Cas turned to him with a small frown, looking disappointed. “He means, a honey trap’s probably not going to work in this instance. I think we might have to think a little more creatively here.” He looked around again. “Everyone’s seen us sitting together anyway, so we’re already outside the normal victims’ profiles. They were alone all night. And anyway,” he leaned in close, “I’ve got a pretty good idea of who it is.” He cut his eyes back toward the bar and said “Don’t look”, but of course, Dean’s head was already halfway turned. Sam sighed.

“Who?” Dean asked, looking back at Sam. “One of the bartenders?”

Sam nodded and kept his eyeroll to himself. “Yes, Dean. One of the bartenders.”

“Which one? Idris Elba or Pink Lady Lisbeth Salander?”

“Uh, probably not the one that refuses to smile at any of us. Probably the one that plies us with free booze.”

“Oh,” Cas said, drawing out the word slightly. He looked at the half-empty fifth contemplatively, then poured himself another drink. He caught sight of Sam and Dean’s slack-jawed expressions. “What?” he asked, drinking it down. “Incubi and succubi don’t use venom or poison the way sirens do. And even if they did, it’s too late now.” He held up the bottle, an offering.

“Hey, when you’re right, you’re right,” Dean said, holding out his glass. He considered for a moment. “We need to draw it to where we’ll be. The motel. Then, when it shows up for its midnight snack, _boom_. Sayonara, Idris.”

“So, what’re we thinking? Some kind of...lure?”

“What would lure a sex demon?” Cas asked with such a complete lack of guile that Sam couldn’t tell if he was trolling them or not.

“Well, I’m just spitballing here, but...sex?” Dean asked, with dangerously sparkling eyes. “Send up the flare, let him know it’s a sure bet, use plenty of bait.”

“Hm,” Cas said, looking uncomfortable. “I...I’d rather not involve a prostitute. I wouldn’t want to endanger anyone without their consent.”

“No, no,” Dean said, looking pleased with himself. He’d clearly gotten the bit between his teeth now. “What we do, right, is crank up some porn. The high-class stuff. The kind you _pay for_ , and we play it loud enough that our friend over there can hear it when they come sniffing around.”

Cas nodded enthusiastically at this idea, and there were those damn heart eyes again, but Sam just shook his head. “You’re overlooking the fact that he’s spoken to all of us. He _knows_ what we sound like, Dean.”

Cas visibly deflated, but then, just as suddenly became incandescent as a thought struck him. “Why don’t we do it?”

Dean promptly choked on his drink. “You wanna...make...porn?”

“Well, not exactly,” Cas said, somewhat abashedly. “I’m afraid that was really more Gabriel’s department. But, you know, if all we need is the, the audio track, then…”

“So you wanna, what, sit in a motel room and make sex noises?” Dean hissed.

Cas shrugged. “Why not?”

Sam felt something gleeful start to bubble up in him at the sight of Dean’s face, where dismay, discomfort and blatant desire were all fighting a very messy battle for dominance.

“That’s a _great_ idea, Cas,” Sam said, smiling. “Don’t worry, Dean, if you’re not uh, up for it, Cas and I can handle it.”

Dean looked offended. And frantic. “What? Have you _met_ me? Do I seem like the kind of guy who’d back down from a porn challenge?”

Sam held up his hands. “Dude, it’s okay, you don’t have to posture with me, Dean. You can’t be good at everything.”

“Excuse me? _Posture_? I am the Barry Bonds of sex noises. If there was a sex Olympics, I could win gold for my technical skill in groaning and nothing else.”

“There’s no baseball in the Olympics, Dean,” Cas said gently, as though delivering grave news. “There hasn’t been since 2008.”

“Shut up, you know what I…” Dean shook his head. “Want me to prove it? I’ll prove it right now.” He drew in a deep breath and shit, this was escalating much more quickly than Sam had anticipated.

“No!” Sam said, overly loud in his panic. Several people turned to look at him, including the two bartenders. He lowered his voice. “Uh, no...no that’s. That’s okay. We don’t need your _When Harry Met Sally_ moment right now. Save it for the motel.” God, this was going to be a mortifying conversation to look back on in the morning, but what the hell.

“Right, okay, yeah,” Dean said, with a look of determination that meant he was already planning this out tactically, moan by moan. “Here,” he said, scribbling the name of their motel, their room number and a quick note at the bottom of a napkin. “Put this on the bar, under this.” He held up the empty Jack Daniels bottle. “Hang back and make sure our mark picks it up. Then hightail it over.” He stood, and helped Cas into his coat. “Come on, buddy, let’s you and me make some noise.”

Sam watched them walk out the door. Before they reached it, he saw Dean’s arm go around Cas’ shoulder. It stayed there as they passed the window and headed southward, drifting noticeably into each other’s space.

****

“Huh,” Dean said, looking down at the rapidly-cooling body in front of him. “Tag team. Who’d have guessed?” He nudged the incubus with the tip of his toe. Thick grey-green blood was seeping slowly from the bullet wound Dean had put in his head. His open mouth revealed the row of tiny needle-sharp teeth just behind his human ones. The tongue, human enough in appearance, both numbed and healed the feeding wounds before the victim knew what was happening. They’d fall into a post-coital nap and never wake up again.

The girl in pink leather had almost made it to the bed, despite the silver-edged knife Sam had buried in her back. But it was the smoking eye pits that revealed the true manner of her death. He turned to look at Cas, whose shirt was still mostly unbuttoned, whose tie was still missing, and whose fly was still down. And yeah, that was definitely a hickey forming at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Oh, and another just above the crest of the left hip. ( _But who in God’s name could resist, when faced with a target like that,_ Dean wondered. He was only human, after all.)

Sam was still giving him epic bitchface. “I can’t _believe_ you were putting the moves on him in the _middle of a case_ , Dean.”

“Dean was just...aiming for authenticity,” Cas said, lifting the incubus easily over his shoulder and carrying it to the bathroom. There was a blinding white flash of light. He emerged a moment later, wiping his hands.

“Oh, really,” Sam said flatly, staring at Dean.

“Of course,” Cas said, now carrying the succubus into the bathroom as well. “He wasn’t really putting the moves on me.”

“What? Hey!” Dean said, stung and brittle. “Is that...were _you_ just...just ‘aiming for authenticity’?”

There was a long moment of silence from the bathroom. “Uh,” Cas said, his voice echoing off the tiles. “I…” Another flash. Then another long moment of silence. When he reappeared, his shirt and trousers were neatly buttoned. “I’ve disposed of the bodies for you. But you may want to clean the carpet. Club soda should work.”

“Yeah, thanks Heloise,” Dean said, striding over to him. “Don’t deflect. Were you just...you know...for the case?” Dean grabbed him by his jaw, admiring the sharp angle of it in his hand, and forced Cas to look at him. His heart felt like it was trying batter a hole in his ribcage.

“Dean, I…” He ground to a halt. There was an entire volume of words on the tip of his tongue, Dean could practically see them, practically taste them. Hell, he _had_ tasted them. But Cas seemed incapable of letting them fall. There was panic lurking in his eyes.

Sam pulled his hand down his face. “Ugh.”

They turned to face him in bewildered unison.

“I’m going to the motel across the street.”

“But we’ve already paid for two rooms in this place,” Dean said.

Sam took a deep breath. When he spoke again, he emphasized each word carefully. “I am going to get a room in the motel across the street.” He gathered up his washbag. “I won’t come back until checkout time tomorrow.” He grabbed his duffle bag from the chair. “You two will have both rooms _entirely to yourselves_ for the next eleven hours. Please get the love confessions out of the way immediately and use the rest of the time wisely.”

The weighted door closed slowly. He had enough time to hear Dean say, halting and gruff, already curling around himself defensively: “So, were you? Just...pretending?’

“Dean,” Cas said. The tenderness in it almost stole Sam's breath, and it wasn't even aimed at him. “You know I’m not that good of a liar.”

The door closed with a click. Sam smiled as he crossed the street.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's now a follow-up, which is mostly just feelings and blowjobs, called [Aletheia ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6345013)


End file.
